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Mrs. Monk's Would-be Diary should have been written by Mrs. Monk, since she is the "Writer" in the family.
However, since she is a writer only in the conceptual sense, I have undertaken to fill these pages on her behalf
If not by her, these pages will certainly be about her, and other important matters of the day         Leslie Monk




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 “Anthea! Where’s Anthea?”

  by  Monk  12 June 2011

I had to explain Bruce Forsythia to Mrs Monk, because she is American and was unaware of his long standing presence on British TV Game shows, which he has hosted since the black and white days of my childhood. I have come across Bruce Forsyth in person on two occasions during my lifetime.

On one occasion we were dining in a restaurant in Teddington, West London, when Sire Brucie came in and took over the place with such stereotypical show stopping panache, that we diners felt like an unwilling audience. Apparently he was entertaining a party from his TV show being produced in the nearby Teddington Studios. Everyone in the restaurant would have recognised this exuberant dandy, except Mrs Monk, and this may well be the first time I was the obliged to explain the very British phenomena of Bruce Forsythia.

I described to Mrs Monk the one other occasion I came into contact with this icon of annoying TV game shows, and subsequently poisoned Mrs Monk’s opinion of him for 30 years, when she would otherwise not have given a damn.

In the 70s, I made a daily drive, commuting to Turnham Green in West London, where I was employed for some time.

The journey was by way of the A4, otherwise known as the Great West Road. This was and remains a a busy rush hour dual carriageway of three lanes in both directions. On this occasion I was in the fast lane when I noticed in my rear view mirror a white Rolls Royce flashing head lights and tailgating. Since I knew the road very well, I knew that the road narrows to two lanes at Gunnersbury Tube Station to accommodate a bridge, and for that reason I delayed giving way to the Rolls who was so apparently keen to pass me and exceed the speed limit. When we passed the narrow section of the road, I moved over to the centre lane, wound down my window in order to give him a piece of my mind, as he passed by.  However I did not expect to see Bruce Forsythia also wind down his window, and to look at me full in the face snarling, and to call me a "fucking cunt"

So now he is to be a knight of the realm. Arise Sir Bruce Potty Mouth Forsythia. The nation should be proud of you.

After I explained this to Mrs Monk in the Teddington restaurant, she began taunting Sir Bruce, calling out the name of his recently estranged trophy wife, Anthea.

“Anthea!” she called out, “Where’s Anthea?” We were in no hurry so she did it some more. “Anthea! Where’s Anthea?” And then some more.



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Arise Sir Potty Mouth.